


Only Time Will Tell

by xCrimsonLustx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Hermione Granger, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10066664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCrimsonLustx/pseuds/xCrimsonLustx
Summary: Sometimes a single action from a jaded heart is all takes to change everything. Tomione TR/HG AU after the final battle. Dark Tom, not a redemption story. Also posted on ff.net under same name.





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story will follow the books until the final battle at Hogwarts, from there it becomes AU. This is my first shot at a Tomione fic, but I feel like there are not enough great ones out there, so here’s my try at it.

Her feet were pounding the ground so hard that only the adrenaline kept her knees from collapsing in pain. Her heart was hammering in her chest, blood rushing in her ears but she could still hear the leaves crunching and twigs snapping beneath the feet of her pursuers. Just keep going, don't stop, keep breathing! In, out, in, out. The dank musty smell of the forest invaded her nose. The leaves and twigs were crunching under her feet. It had rained the day before, everything was still damp and slippery. She grabbed at the low hanging branches to balance herself when she slipped. It was an advantage for her, she was so used to trekking through the forest in wet conditions that it didn’t slower her down like it was doing to the men steadying falling further behind her.

Her chest was heaving, struggling to take in enough air to keep her body moving so hard and so fast. They were right behind her, she couldn’t falter for even a second. She couldn't stop, this was the moment she'd been planning out for a year and she was nearly there. It was dark in the forest. It was always dark here. The trees were so tall, so thick, that real sunlight rarely reached the forest floor during the day. Only the smallest moonlight could illuminate her path even on a clear night. Tonight the moon was covered by heavy layer clouds, it was impossible to see anything without a torch or a lumos spell, both would make it even easier for her would be captors to find her. So she trusted her instincts and her magic, weaving between the dense trees. She didn’t need to see to know where she was going, she pushed out with her magic, following the path is laid out for her. She could feel the sticky warm blood covering her hands. They were smacking against the trees, dodging, pushing off, and propelling herself forward. She'd been running for so long, she couldn't stop now.

Hermione Granger had been running and hiding for a year. Well, 354 days if you wanted to be exact. But she was now an expert on long distance sprinting to keep her ass alive. So many things had happened in the last year and it began 354 days ago when Harry Potter, the last hope and savior for magical and muggle world, had died. Harry Potter, her best friend, fell to the Elder wand in the hands of Lord Voldemort. The wand the vile man had taken from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.

Hermione could still remember it like it was yesterday. She would never let herself forget. It was her driving force now, the reason she kept going, the reason she could justify the unthinkable things she has done to get here. The flash of green light streaking across the darkness, Harry’s body hitting the crimson coated ground, his beautiful green eyes staring at her wide open and lifeless, the trickle of blood that slowly trailed down his face. Her heart had stopped in that moment, she fell to her knees, the rainbow color flashes of curses, hexes, and charms flying all around her were unseen by her eyes. She heard nothing, felt nothing, and saw nothing but Harry. That was all she needed to remember to push through it all.

She was one of the few Order members to make it off of the Hogwarts battlefield alive and uncaptured. It had felt like she sat there, on her knees, staring at Harry’s empty eyes for hours, but she knew it had only been seconds. The battle was over within minutes of Harry’s fall. She'd watched all of the Weasley men fall, some before him and others after.

Bill took a severing charm to the neck. The pale green light nearly separated his head from his body. The last she saw of him, Fleur was standing over him, throwing spell after spell back at the Death Eater that had cast it. 

Arthur didn’t last long, he died long before Harry. She didn’t see what happened to him. She found him in the middle of the battle field when she tripped over him, trying to get closer to Harry. Arthur would have been a target, Voldemort had wanted him dead for a long time. The damned Weasley hair made them all stand out in the crowded battle field.

Charlie had brought in reinforcements from all over Europe, leading the charge into battle. His brave effort had been in vain. His companions around him were cut down quickly. An explosive hex landed near his feet and there was nothing left of him to be found.

Percy had fought side by side with Fred. He was so valiant that day, something she’d never expected of him. He took an Avada Kedavra from Lucius Malfoy who was leading the group of Death Eaters charging against him. He died after Fred.

Fred and George, ever the jokesters were still laughing in the chaos of the battle. They separated before they were killed. Fred was crushed when a wall collapsed on top of him. George was hit with a slicing hex to his chest. It cut him from his hip bone to his chest. He bled out quickly. She was so glad the twins didn’t witness each other’s death. She took comfort in that.

Molly fought so brilliantly. After Bellatrix Lestrange threw a killing curse at Ginny, one the young red head dodged just in time, Molly was blazing. She was firing off non-verbal spells so rapidly that Bellatrix couldn’t block them all. The duel lasted less than a minute. Her final spells froze Bellatrix and shattered her into a thousand pieces. Her death was so… satisfying. Hermione only wished she could have killed the wicked bitch herself. Eventually Molly fell too, a Killing Curse hit her in the back, sent from a coward in a mask while she was shielding Ginny.

Ron was the last to go, standing side by side with Harry, loyal to the bitter end. He didn’t even try to block the Diffindo that stuck him in the gut. He was frozen in time, just like she was, after they watched their best friend die. Then she watched the boy she loved follow him into death. When Ron’s body hit the ground, it snapped her out of her trance and she took off into the forest. 

Ginny was hauled away by Death Eaters as she clung to Harry's lifeless body. Lupin, Tonks, Snape, Brown, and there were so many others lost that day. But she couldn't think of them, it was too much if she did and she wasn't strong enough for that. So she didn't think of them anymore, only Harry. She was doing this for him, for her best friend, the 17 year old boy who so willingly gave his life for her.

Keeping pushing, keep going, almost there, focus! And so she thought of the things she'd done to get here. The wand in her hand was not her first wand, the underage magical trace on her beloved wand would lead the Death Eaters straight to her with a single spell. So she'd dropped it on the Hogwarts battlefield before she took off for the Forbidden Forest, the same forest she was racing through now. The 11” Blackthorn Dragon Heartstring wand had become her faithful servant, maybe more so than her first wand had been. She'd obtained it 3 days after the final battle, taken off of the corpse of a Death Eater who was searching the forest for surviving Order members. She's been sitting, her back leaning up against a tree, asleep when the crack of a twig jolted her awake. She slipped around the tree, held her breath, hidden until the masked wizard walked by and she'd stuck the sharpened stick she'd made straight into his throat. It was crude, messy, and a little barbaric but it had worked. The man died only a minute later, she'd ignored the gurgling and choking noises that had come from his convulsive body. And she'd gained a wand, a strong wand that she could use and that was all that had mattered. She didn't even lift the mask to see the man's face before she walked away, leaving his body to rot on the forested ground. A quick “Scourgify” was the first spell she’d cast with it, removing all traces of the dead man’s blood from her cloths and skin. It cleaned up the dirt and other unknown blood sources that had caked onto her robes during the battle.

Hermione had stopped counting the number of lives she'd taken in order to get where she needed to be. She had been on 11 when the numbers started to blur together. They were all Death Eaters or Voldemort sympathizers or people too scared to stand up against the Dark Lord and his followers. She tried to avoid taking lives but sometimes, many times, it had been necessary. They were the necessary cost for the chance to put the world right. There was no cost too high for that. No cost too high, no cost too high. That had become her mantra.

When Harry Potter had died and Voldemort was free to reign over Wizarding England, the world was plunged into chaotic darkness. Voldemort was a madman with only a sliver of his dark soul left. His idea of order was full of torture, blood lust, and death for anyone who didn't obey him, for anyone that displeased him. The already decimated magical population continued to plummet under his complete rule. His forces has pushed their way into the European mainland, taking country after country until he had an empire. And he wasn't just taking the magical world, his war has spilled into the muggle world and he was laying waste to it too. Muggles were slaughtered or enslaved, their cities were leveled to leave no trace of their existence. He was truly a mad man who had to be stopped, no matter the cost. No cost too high.

So Hermione Granger made it her mission to stop him. The first few months she’d plotted and planned to kill the Dark Lord herself. She gained information any way she could, sometimes with drunk persuasion, sometimes with torture, and sometimes with Legilimency, all followed by a strong memory charm. Or death. When the horrible things she found inside someone’s mind were too terrible to let them live, she ended them with an Avada Kedavra. At least it was a painless death, something many of Voldemort’s followers didn’t grant their own victims. She’d become an excellent Legilimens, an incredibly useful skill for a fugitive to have. She’d become good enough that she could even read some minds with non-verbal use of the spell.

It quickly became clear that she would never make it through Voldemort’s defenses on her own and even if she could find some of them, there were not enough Order members left alive to raise a raiding party. And so her plans changed. The only way to stop Voldemort was before he regained power. So she read everything she could find on the dark wizard’s history and she found the best place to stop him was before he created all of his Horcruxes. So September 1, 1944 was the day she chose. The day that Tom Riddle Jr began his final year at Hogwarts. He would have already created two of his Horcruxes, the diary and the ring, but Hermione would never pass for a 6th year student. Thanks to her use of her time turner in her third year, she was 19 years old now. 

So Hermione began to study, to read, to research. After 3 months of non-stop work, she’d created a time turner. A true time turner that could take her back to any time she wanted, not the cheapened version she’d had in her third year that limited you only safely turning back 5 hours of time. Once that was done, she’d found a suitable cover. She would become Callidora Selwyn, one of the last remaining pureblood Selwyn’s, one of the sacred 28 that Voldemort coveted so much. Callidora was a 17 year old girl who had been privately tutored by her parents, Reginald and Gabriella, until their home was destroyed by a muggle bomb during the muggle war on August 29th, 1944. Her body was never found. The entire family kept to themselves, especially after Callidora had been born on May 23, 1927. It didn’t take Hermione long to have the paperwork drawn up. Though they were fake, they were created by an Imperiused Ministry official and would even fool a goblin. The same official fetched the Selwyn family vault key that had been stored at the Ministry since the family’s demise. Since Callidora’s body had never been found, she couldn’t be declared dead for 100 years so until that time, all family assets had been frozen by the Ministry. The key now rested in the inside left pocket of her plain black robes along with appropriately wrinkled and dirtied identification papers. The kind someone would have dug out of the rubble of their ruined home. 

Once that was done, Hermione only had one task left. She knew from her third year use of a time turner that you couldn’t go back in time to change it. When you go back in time, it’s because you’ve always done so and any actions you take, you took because you were always going to. It was a damned time paradox that Hermione had to break if she was going to change to future. It took 7 solid months of research and testing before she thought she had the ritual. She really had no way of testing the completed formula. This was a one-time, all or nothing shot. But she had it right, she had to. Her wand was in her right hand, and she fingered the small glass vile that was tucked safely in her outer left hand pocket. The potion she had spent 4 months developing was swirling inside. 

The ritual was dark, creating that potion left a mark on her soul, but really, what was one more mark? She was doing the right thing, someone had to set things right and Hermione Granger would sacrifice her own soul if it meant saving the lives of her friends, of her family, and of all of the others who took a stand against the Dark Lord and fell at the hands of his forces. So she created the potion, even when she realized an ingredient, the most important ingredient, was a soul. A human soul. It took three, since the first two attempts burned up before she could bottle them. They were all Death Eaters. No innocent souls, if any still existed under the rule of Lord Voldemort, were harmed.

She was almost there, just another minute and she’d be at the edge of the forest, still deep enough to remain hidden but close enough to the Hogwarts grounds that nothing unsavory would be lurking around. It wouldn’t do to go to all of the trouble she had, perfectly execute her plan, and then be killed by an angry Centaur or Werewolf when she arrived. So she kept running. She’d planned to leave the following day, but the inconvenient timing of a Death Eater search party had pushed her plan ahead of schedule by a day. It didn’t matter, she was ready now. She’d purposely picked plain robes, a plain white blouse, and a below the knee length skirt that would blend into 1944 Wizarding England and changed only an hour before the search party discovered her camp sight. She’d cast disillusionment charms and a repealing charm but one of the Death Eater’s wasn’t a complete idiot, he’d sensed the charms and came charging in, breaking her spells and sending her on the run. She always slept with her wand and beaded bag in hand. She was always ready.

She was beginning to recognize the forest now. She’d been in the edges of the forest enough times as a child to remember it. She was close enough now, so she listened. Two pursuers were close enough that she’d have to dispatch them, one to her right and one to her left. The others she couldn’t hear anymore, they had fallen too far behind. She didn’t have time for a battle, for curses that could be blocked. So she dodged behind a tree and let out two successive, carefully aimed Avada Kedavras. She was already pulling the glass vial from her pocket as the green lights from her wand streaked across the forest and found their marks. 

“Tempus est ad fletere!” Hermione cried as she smashed the vial to the ground. Black smoke consumed her, swirling so fast it nearly knocked her off balance. It was pulled at her, tearing her robes, ripping her hair, suffocating her. Faces were flashing by in the smoky whirlwind. It only took her a minute to recognize the faces of people she’d killed. Her heart clenched, it was even harder to breathe now. Her eyes were burning and her chest was on fire, but she didn’t need to see for her final task. She’d practiced over and over again until she had each step so engrained in her memory that she could do them not matter what was thrown her way. She’d prepared for time to fight back and it was. But it wasn’t going to win. She reached under her robes and grasped the time turner. The date was already set to September 1st. All she needed was one turn for each year she needed to go back, 55 in total. And so she began to count down

55\. The black smoke tornado around her was so loud it felt like her head was going to burst. Just keep turning, keep counting.

40\. There were screams, just barely audible over the howling wind.

30\. The screaming grew louder. It was a single voice now, she recognized it. The Death Eater she’d killed and captured his soul successfully into the potion. She didn’t know his name because it didn’t matter, but his scream was echoing so loudly through her mind that she thought she might lose it if it didn’t stop soon.

20\. Curses were being fired, but none could breech through to heavy darkness of the smoke. Nothing could stop her except herself now. The thick black swirl was pushing down her throat, choking her. She couldn’t breathe, her lungs were on fire and her chest was heaving, trying desperately to take in oxygen that wasn’t there.

3… 2… 1… And suddenly it was quiet. The smoke, the wind, the screams, they were all gone. She took a gasp of air, delivering previous oxygen into her lungs. She was so dizzy she fell, catching herself on her hands and knees as she retched up bile from her otherwise empty stomach. At first Hermione heard nothing, maybe the howling smoke had deafened her. Then she heard it. The chirp of a cricket, the croak of a toad, the rustling of the wind through the trees. The pale moonlight just broke through the trees. Was it the early morning or late night of September 1st? She hadn’t even caught her breath, but she had to move, time was of the essence now. She was on her feet, flying through the forest towards the castle. She counted in her head. It took 2 minutes and 47 seconds to reach the closed gates of Hogwarts. She was breathless as she banged on the gates. 38 long seconds later, a puzzled young man in Slytherin robes appeared.

“Who are you?” his voice was calm, smooth as silk.

“What… day is… it?” Hermione gasped between heavy breaths.

“September 1st,” he replied, his dark brow furrowed in perplexity.

“Year?”

“What?”

“What year is it?!” she yelled.

“1944. What is wrong with you?”

She didn’t answer. No time. She ripped the time turner from around her neck and threw it to the ground. She crushed it under her boot before she circled her wand and cried, “Uanescere!” and it disintegrated into dust, chain and all. Hermione grasped the wrought iron bars of the gate as her legs began to shake and she collapsed to the ground. She was here. She made it. It was done. The problem with a real time turner was that it only allowed you to return to the past for 5 minutes. Exactly 5 minutes after it transports you back in time, it returns you to the point you left. It would take Hermione much longer than 5 minutes to change the future. She couldn’t have the time tuner bring her back so soon, so it wouldn’t be taking her back at all. Just as she’d planned, as soon as she knew she was in the right time, she destroyed it before it could take her back. She could never return to her own time, but that was a small prices to pay to set the world right. She’d accepted her fate when she’d realized it was the only way. Not cost too high.

Now the adrenaline was wearing off and the exhaustion was catching up to her. She closed her eyes for a moment before she looked down at herself. Her robes were torn and dirty, her blouse now dipped a bit lower on her chest than would be considering appropriate for 1944, but her bra was still covered. Her skirt had several large tears but still covered her intimate areas. Her long honey brown curls were a wild mess, it would take a few rounds of spells to untangle it all.

“What was that? You’re trespassing on Hogwarts grounds and I demand you answer me!”

Hermione looked up at the boy who was towering over her from behind the gate. He was tall, around 5’11, his dark brown hair was slightly curly and well groomed, his piercing green eyes reminded her of Harry, and his robes were perfectly pressed. He was quite handsome, not something she generally noticed or cared about anymore, but it wasn’t something you could ignore in him. His presences was striking, commanding. He had a confidence and power about him that wasn’t often found in a student. His wand was in his hand, though it wasn’t pointed at her yet.

“It was a necklace my father used to track me,” the lie rolled elegantly off of her tongue. Lies came so quickly and naturally to her now. If you made something out be less than trivial, then people paid it no notice. “There’s no need for it anymore. I need to see Professor Dumbledore.”

“Who are you?” he demanded. His brow was still furrowed, though he accepted her first answer.

“My name is Callidora Selwyn. My father told me to come to Hogwarts and speak to Professor Dumbledore if something happened. Please, I need his help.” Hermione watched as her new last name registered, a glint of curiosity sparked in his eye.

“Give me your wand, then I can open the gates and take you to the Professor.” Hermione hesitated, her wand had not left her possession since she’d take it. It was in her hand or up her sleeve at all times. It had bonded so strongly with her, it hurt to think about separating from it. She stretched her arm up and through the gate, handing her most trusted weapon to the stranger. He snatched it from her open hand and pocketed it before he waved his own wand and the gates opened. He stepped forward and offered her his free hand to help her to her feet. His hand was warm, soft, inviting, and something sent a spark straight down her spine. His eyes snapped down to hers, almost like he’d felt it too. He pulled her to her feet and released her hand as quickly as he could. 

“Follow me,” he said and started towards the castle. Hermione stepped up walk side by side with him. “Professor Dumbledore is still in his office. You’re lucky you showed up when you did. I’m doing final rounds at the gate this evening and I was about to head back to the castle. You could have been stuck out here all night. I’m the Head Boy here at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle.”

Hermione smiled at him as she glanced over the Head Boy badge sewn on to his robes. She’d missed that in her fatigued state. Yes, luck was on the side of Hermione Granger today. No, not Hermione Granger. That was a name she’d never hear again. She was Callidora Selwyn now. Now until the day she died, whenever that would be. Only time will tell.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I do not own Harry Potter or the amazing universe JK Rowling created with it.

Callidora Selwyn. Callidora Selwyn. She repeated the name, over and over again, until Hermione Granger sounded like a stranger. The walk from the gates to the castle was a long one. The moon and starts were bright in the clear sky, illuminating the grounds she’d once called home. The Hogwarts grounds were easily recognizable to her, but closer inspection revealed many subtle differences. The shrubs were trimmed into different shapes, more round than Hagrid had kept them. Will keep them? She wasn’t sure how she should refer to her past that was part of this future.

She noted that the flowerbeds were smaller, and the trees were different. Some were smaller, and others were taller, as though they died and were replanted sometime between now and 1999. No matter the changes, it still felt like home. The home Hogwarts had been to her before Voldemort’s henchmen invaded it. Before the final battle when the blood of her friends soaked into the dirt. But that hadn’t happened yet, the dirt beneath her feet was clean and dry.

She took a subtle sideways glance at the tall young man next to her. 17 year old Tom Riddle looked nothing like the hideous form of Lord Voldemort, the form that he would never take if she had anything to do with it. Young Tom Riddle was handsome and graceful. His movements were elegant and precise. The same movements she saw from his older self on the battlefield. With such an angelic face, it was getting easier to see how he had fooled so many people into taking the Dark Mark. He even smelled nice, crisp, clean, and woodsy.   
The temptation to kill him right now was overwhelming. His tall, lean form would be no match for her battle hardened body. He would never expect a physical attack, not from a witch. The element of surprise was all she would need to knock him to the ground and wrap her hands around his throat. He would be unconscious in seconds, and then she could crush his throat with her boot. It would be so satisfying….

But it would be pointless. He already had two Horcruxes. She had to find both of them first. After she knew the date she had to come back, she spent a great deal of time mastering Fiendfyre. It took several weeks to work her way up to it, mastering control over other fire-based spells like Firestorm. She went through several bottle of burn salve and learned a new clothing repair charm, but she could cast and control Fiendfyre now. Once she found them, she could destroy them and then destroy him.

Speaking of, she caught a glimpse of black and gold ring on his left hand. That was one down, he made that incredibly easy. He likely kept the diary in his dormitory. As Head Boy, he would be living in the private dorms awarded to the Head Boy and Head Girl. Each had their own bedroom, living room, and luxury bathroom. His bedroom would be the most secure place in Hogwarts to keep it, no one could enter it without his expressed permission. It was time to play nice with the snake.

“Thank you, Tom,” she said to him. “I’m sorry to have arrived so late. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly midnight,” he replied. “Everyone has already gone to bed, other than staff and Prefects on patrol. What happened to you? Were you attacked?”

“My family’s home…” she trailed off, thinking of Harry’s lifeless eyes that made her throat tighten and tears well in her own eyes. She was so used to pushing herself, forcing herself not to care about anything except her mission, that it was difficult to feel anything at all. It didn’t help that the only human contact she’d had over the past year was when she was torturing information from them, running from them, or killing them. Logic and reason is what kept her alive, not petty emotions. The little girl that cried when someone called her a Mudblood was long gone. “It was blown up. I was outside when it happened so I didn’t get the brunt of it. But my parents…” she closed her eyes and remembered Ron’s body, shredded nearly beyond recognition and choked back a sob, “they were inside. I came here after I searched for them… I got lost in the woods for a bit. I may have had a concussion.”

“I’m very sorry to hear about your parents,” when she glanced over at him, she was surprised to see that he looked sincere. She knew he wasn’t. A psychopath didn’t feel anything for anyone but themselves.

“Thank you. My father told me to go to Albus Dumbledore if anything ever happened to him. So, here I am.” She cast her eyes down to the ground. 

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will help you,” he paused. “I don’t mean to pry, but why don’t you attend Hogwarts now.”

“My parents were very… private people. They preferred that they teach me themselves, from home. They thought it was safer, to stay at home, especially with Grindelwald. But home mustn’t have been very safe if a muggle weapon could blow it up…”

“A muggle blew up your house?” he voice rose an octave, showing his interest to hear more.

“Yes, a muggle threw several of the weapons, bombs they call them, at houses in the neighborhood. Our house was concealed between muggle homes, but our wards must have been overdue for recasting because the thing blew up our house too.”

“The muggle war is getting out of control!” he exclaimed, waving his hand to emphasize his displeasure. “I can’t believe the Ministry hasn’t done something about it.”

“What’s done, is done,” she placed a hand on his arm to stop him from waving it about. A shock, like she felt when she took his hand earlier, jolted through her again, followed by a soft hum. She was going to have to figure out what that was about. She’d never felt it before. “Nothing can change it. I just have to figure out where I go from here.”

Riddle stopped, placing his hand over hers to halt her. “Your hands,” he picked her hand up and turned it over. “Lumos.” The light from his wand revealed the bloodied messes that were her hands. “I didn’t notice them in the dark, I’m sorry.”

“Oh… Yes, I guess I tore them up when I was digging through the rubble…”

He picked up her other hand, so that both of hers were cradled in his left. “Tergeo,” he said as he pointed is wand at her hands. The blood disappeared, illuminating the numerous scraps and cuts across her pale skin. A quick “Episkey” from him, and those were gone too.

“Thank you,” she smiled at him. Smiling at a man you were also imagining strangling was strange. “That’s much better.”

He was silent as he dropped her hands and resumed his path towards the castle.

Seeing Hogwarts again, in all of its glory, was as magical as the first time she saw it through her 11 year old eyes, and it looked very much the same. The last time she saw it, it was covered in blackened scorch marks, doors were blow off, walls had collapsed, the beautiful castle she called home was half in ruins. This Hogwarts was still pristine and glorious. The perfect stone walls gleamed under the moonlight. So many great memories had happened inside its walls.

He took her inside through the front doors, which she knew for a fact was not the way that Prefects or the Head Boy or Girl would use to go in and out during patrol. But Callidora Selwyn had never been to Hogwarts before, so she said nothing. She followed Tom Riddle through the familiar walls of Hogwarts, only the sounds of their shoes echoing off of the stone could be heard. It was dark inside, a faint orange glow from the candles on the walls was the only source of light late at night. She knew the path to the Gryffindor Head of House’s rooms well, but she looked around, as amazed and surprised as one would expect from someone who had never stepped a foot on Hogwarts grounds before.

It was strange to think that Albus Dumbledore would be inside those rooms, that he would be teaching Transfiguration classes. Would he be as good as, or better than Professor McGonagall had been? She was a little girl in this time, not even old enough to attend Hogwarts yet. How incredibly strange. None of the professors would be the same. Except Binns. Would he still be alive in 1944? She cleared her throat the cover the giggle that threatened to slip out at the thought of a living professor Binns. Maybe he would be more interested when he was still alive. At the very least, the inside of this Hogwarts was very similar to her own even if the inhabitants were not.

Tom Riddle stopped at the familiar door. These quarters had belonged to Professor McGonagall in her time. She had spent a great deal of time inside of her mentor’s after hours office. When Riddle knocked, a significantly younger and very much alive Albus Dumbledore answered the door. His hair and beard were much shorter, and more of a dark gray than the stark white she was accustomed to. It was a bittersweet moment, seeing the professor she had adored for so long alive again. The headmaster who had welcomed her to Hogwarts, who had treated her like the brilliant student she was, regardless of her blood status. The man who had used and groomed Harry Potter, from the tender age of 11, to defeat the Dark Lord. The elderly wizard who had used her best friend as a pawn, keeping him in the dark about his purpose. The wizard that could have saved so many lives if he hadn’t been playing games. Maybe she wouldn’t even be here, now, if Dumbledore had been honest with Harry from the start.

Harry Potter would have sacrificed himself to destroy Voldemort. Dumbledore only needed to be honest with him, tell him everything and Harry would have done it. Voldemort would have fallen on the battlefield alongside her best friend, no, her brother because really best friend wasn’t a strong enough term for the bond she shared with him. And so many other lives would have been saved. Most of the Weasleys would have still been alive.

Instead, Dumbledore did what Dumbledore had always done. He manipulated, he shaped, he groomed, and he prepared, all to shape the outcome he thought he would achieve. But he had been wrong, so very, very wrong. And now she was going to have to trust him, and he was going to have to trust her.

“Professor, sir,” Riddle greeted him. “This is Callidora Selwyn. I found her at the gates on my patrol. She requested to see you immediately.”

Dumbledore furrowed his brow as he looked her over. “Come in, my dear. Tom, please wait out here, thank you.” Dumbledore ushered her inside, nodding towards a chair in front of his desk. The professor’s rooms were attached to their office, in case a student had a late night emergency, they wouldn’t be barging directly into a professor’s private rooms. 

His office was very similar to his office as the Headmaster. Fawkes looked as beautiful as ever, sleeping on his perch. A bowl of lemon drops sat front and center on the desk. His pensieve sat in the corner, surrounded by the books that lined the walls. It was smaller than the Headmaster’s office, but was still very obvious that it belonged to Albus Dumbledore. It looked nothing like it had when McGonagall inhabited it.

He sat down behind his desk before he spoke. “The Selwyns are very private people, but I’ve visited a few times, the last being about 4 years ago. I’m afraid that while on paper, you may resemble Callidora, curly brown hair, brown eyes, approximate 5’5, for anyone who has seen her in person, you are certainly not her.”

“Well, it’s fortunate for me that no one has really seen her,” she replied. “I’m really not sure how much I should tell you, but no, I’m not Callidora Selwyn. I’m from the future and I’ve come back in time because I have to.” Dumbledore knew how time travel worked. There was no reason to tell them that she was actually there to change the future. What she was doing here now, was not something that should ever be done again. Messing with time wasn’t something she was proud to be doing, but it had to be done, just this once and never again. “In my time, you were my Headmaster, a mentor and a friend. You placed a great deal of trust in me, trust that I hope I can earn from you here and now.”

She felt the faintest intrusion into her mind. If she didn’t know Dumbledore was a skilled Legilimens and she wasn’t expecting it, she never would have noticed. She couldn’t even tell what he was searching for. She held eye contact with him and made no move to stop his search. She tucked away her time altering ritual where he wouldn’t find it without using extreme force. He was welcome to anything else he wanted to see.

“Hm,” he popped a lemon drop in his mouth then held the candy dish out to her. “Lemon drop?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“Well, I believe it’s safe to say that you’ve come from a time of war, based on your current condition.” He gestured to her bloodstained, torn clothes. “You should not tell me much, but there are a few things I need to know. Is it Grindelwald?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Another Dark Wizard, more twisted and powerful than he was.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips. “And you were a student at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sir. I was unable to start my 7th year due to the war, but I was a Gryffindor, a Prefect, and would have been Head Girl.”

“Why were you unable to start 7th year?” He leaned back in his chair, finally breaking his eye contact with a long blink.

“The war was heavily centered on blood status, and I am a Muggleborn, the first witch in the history of my family. And I was very close with the people trying to stop this Dark Wizard.”

“Very well,” he said. “That’s all I need to know from your past. I assume you’d like to attend Hogwarts for your 7th year?”

“Yes, that was what I was hoping for.”

“You’ll need to be sorted for a house, and tested to measure your current magically abilities. Do you have anything to prove that you are Callidora Selwyn?” Hermione dug out her papers and her key and held them out for Dumbledore. He studied the papers closely, flipping them from front to back. His fingers brushed over the official seal. “These will be more than sufficient.” He handed them back to her. “It is late and you have wounds that need tending. You can spend the rest of the night at the infirmary and meet with the Headmaster in the morning to get things sorted out.”

“Thank you very much sir.”

Dumbledore rose from his chair, “I don’t believe it needs to be said, but I’ll say it anyways. Tell no one else of your past and who you are. You’re Callidora Selwyn now, and unless we are alone, here in my office, that is who you will always be from now on.”

“Of course, sir.”

Dumbledore opened the office door and walked her out. Riddle was still waiting.

“Tom, please take Miss Selwyn to the infirmary, then you’re free to return to your dormitory.”

“Yes, Professor,” Riddle answered. 

Dumbledore retreated to his office and closed the door. She’d given him a lot to think about. He was a hard man to read and she wasn’t sure if she’d really gained his trust yet. He was allowing her to stay and would hopefully relay that support to Headmaster Dippet. It was a start. She needed Dumbledore as her ally because he certainly wasn’t a man you wanted as an enemy. He may not have the power and fame he soon would after he defeated Grindelwald and took the Elder wand, but he was still a wizard that his enemies feared. And deep down, she knew he always did what he thought was right, even if that meant destroying some good people.

“So you’ll be staying here at Hogwarts?” Riddle’s voice pulled her out of her own thoughts.

“I think so. I have to meet with the Headmaster in the morning,” she told him.

“The Headmaster is a fair man, he’ll let you stay. You’ll be in your seventh year?”

When Riddle turned right, instead of left, going the long way to the infirmary, she had to stop herself from asking him why. Callidora Selwyn didn’t know Hogwarts. 

“Yes. It will be interesting to learn in a school environment. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot that I wouldn’t have at home.”

“Hogwarts is an excellent school. Classes don’t begin until Monday, so you won’t miss anything tomorrow.” 

He walked with such confidence. His posture was perfect and he was so sure of himself. Then again, he was currently immortal. She might have the same confidence if she knew someone had to hunt down 2 Horcruxes before they could kill her. Since he was wearing one now, if she were to Avada Kedavra him right here in the hallway, would he come right back to life? Would he change, bear a stronger resemblance to the snake-like form of Lord Voldemort that she knew, or would that form only come if he continued to split his soul into smaller and smaller pieces?

When he looked at her, a smile graced his lips and his eyes locked with hers. She felt the familiar tickle of legilimency. It wasn’t subtle like Dumbledore’s had been, but Tom Riddle was only 17, he didn’t have the years of practice that Dumbledore had. She pulled down her mental walls and put him an empty room. She could see him in her mind as clearly as she could see him standing in front of her. His lips pulled into a frown and his face tensed with confusion. She smiled at him as she focused on his mental projection and shoved him out with everything she had, shutting the door behind him. For a weaker Legilimens, she could have blocked him, shown him casual memories and thoughts that he’d never have known she’d planted for him. But even as a teenager he was an incredibly strong Legilimens and her occulmency wasn’t quite on par. It didn’t help that she was so exhausted, so she let him know she was locking him out.

“You know,” she told him as though it were the most casual thing in the world, “most people would consider it very rude to try to read their thoughts.”

He grabbed her arm so he had to stop and face him. “How did you do that?” He demanded.

“Occlumency was an important part of my schooling at home. I told you my parents were very private people. Is it not something they teach here at Hogwarts?”

“No, it’s not. That’s the infirmary,” he pointed to the door in front of them. The same door she had walked in and out of many times. Usually more often to visit Ron or Harry then because she needed to see Madam Pomfrey for herself. “I will see you tomorrow.”  
Tom Riddle was flustered. He probably hadn’t met a student who could even detect his subtle intrusion into their mind, let alone shove him out on his proverbial mental ass. He turned around and stormed down the hall before she could have the last word. She couldn’t hold back the laugh anymore, after he’d disappeared down the hallway. She’d had been here for more than a few hours and she’d already met and upset the teenage Dark Lord she’d come back to destroy.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Albus Dumbledore sat himself down in his favorite arm chair next to the fireplace. Sleep would not come to him tonight, he had much to think about. A time traveler, a young girl he’d never seen before who knew him well, was not someone you came across on a regular basis. It was obvious that she had known him, the confusion, wonder, and sadness that filled her eyes when she looked at him told him as much. She looked as though she’d seen a ghost. He wondered if he’d passed away in her time.

 

He’d also gently peaked into her mind, just to be sure she was telling the truth. He saw pain, violence, bloodshed, and death. Those were the things that constantly circled her mind. The poor young girl had come from a warzone of the worst kind. He saw a glimpse of a young man with shaggy brown hair, glasses, and the most peculiar shaped scar on his forehead. He saw him laughing, zipping around on a broomstick. They were dear friends. He saw him hunched over a table in a tent, angry and defeated. And then he saw him dead, his body hitting the ground, his wand rolling away from his lifeless hand. There were dozens of people scattered across the grounds around him. Many were dead, others were crying out for help. They were at Hogwarts, a Hogwarts that looked little like the one he was presently in. It was a shock for someone who had called Hogwarts home for as long as he had. For nearly a thousand years, Hogwarts walls and wards had never been breached.

 

He saw himself through her eyes, a much older version of himself, long white hair with a matching beard. It was the welcoming feast, he was in the Headmaster’s seat giving the welcoming speech and she had listened so eagerly. The excitement of magic was so thrilling through her young, muggleborn eyes. He saw himself again, older, speaking to her inside of someone’s home. She had trusted him completely. It was there he stopped looking for specific memories, it was dangerous to see too much of one’s own future. He had no interest in knowing how he would die, if she were a witness to such a thing.

 

From there he looked into her heart. It was tired, worn, desperate. Her soul held the marks of someone who had used dark magic and light magic, someone who had cast the Killing Curse enough times to do it with ease. Her magic was strong, her knowledge was vast, and she’d used both during this war she’d been fighting. She was a powerful young witch. There was a darkness that was set so deep in her soul that nothing would ever completely erase it. But she was determined and her intentions were good. She wanted to stop the darkness that swept across her time. Albus Dumbledore knew that sometimes you had to fight darkness with darkness. Like that young girl, no one side was ever completely innocent.

 

She wanted to save her friends, her family, but time travel was a strange thing. You couldn’t change what has already happened. What a person had seen in their own time, things that they know have happened, those will always happen. She couldn’t save her friends, not that he would tell her that. She was strong, he could see that within her, but everyone had a breaking point and there was no need to push her further towards hers. She had come here because she had always came here, and the things she would do would be what she had always done. The paradox of time travel, the paradox that ensured you couldn’t change a thing about the future you had come from.

 

There was no way for her to return to her time. At least none that were known in 1944. Whoever she had been in the future, was a girl she would never be again. She was brilliant, choosing Callidora Selwyn as her identity. Dumbledore had heard news of the bombing of her ancestral home and the death of Mr. and Mrs. Selwyn. Callidora’s body hadn't been found, he guessed that it never would have been. Her future, the time that she came from, must have been sometime in the next 100 years. After 100 years, the ministry would have emptied the Selwyn family vaults and destroyed the key. It would have taken months for her to so carefully arrange her identity in this time. First to find an identity she could assume, without killing someone, then to create the legal paperwork to prove her identity and get the Selwyn family vault key… This was no ordinary girl. He would be keeping a very close eye on her.

 

 

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr was livid. Angry wasn’t a strong enough word to describe his current state of mind. Pity any student stupid enough to be out of bed so late and cross his path right now.

 

He was the most powerful and intelligent student in Hogwarts. In time, as his knowledge and mastery of magic progressed, he would eventually become more powerful that Albus Dumbledore. There was no questioning this, they were facts. Until tonight. Until some little chit of a girl not only recognized his intrusion into her mind, but she _pushed him out!_ That did not happen to Tom Riddle. He was Lord Voldemort, a direct descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin, and she had stopped him. He made a semi-regular occurrence of looking into the thoughts of students, especially those that called themselves his friends. She had the element of surprise tonight. Next time he wanted to take something from her mind, it would end differently.

 

He couldn’t deny that she was powerful, the most powerful person of his age that he had encountered. He would not deny that, he wasn’t a fool who would underestimate anyone, enemy or friend. But which would she be? It was the not knowing that made him even more angry.

 

He stormed through the door to his Head Boy dorm, wandlessly slamming it closed behind himself. If anyone had been in the hall, they would have run away, quickly.

 

He fingered the wand in his pocket, her wand, the wand that he so conveniently forgot to return to her when he left her outside of the hospital door. He pulled it out and flipped it through his fingers. 11”, Blackthorn. He squeezed it until he felt it pulse in his palm. Dragon Heartstring. It would be a powerful wand in the hands of a skilled, powerful wizard. Or witch. The wood was incredibly smooth, well worn, and flexible. It was far more worn than a wand that had only been in use for 6 years should be. This wand had belonged to someone else, but why would a Selwyn, an extremely wealthy pureblooded family, have a used wand? He held it up, eye level, and slowly twirled it around for a closer inspection. It had seen battle, there were several scorch marks that were so deep they couldn’t be removed with cleaning and polishing. Dark magic. Why would a 17 year old Selwyn girl have a powerful old, scorched wand?

 

He closed his eyes, squeezing the wand tightly with both hands. It pulsed with Dark magic, and not the kind that was left when one was hit with it. It was the kind one was left with when it cast it.

 

He gripped the wand in his right hand. “Prior Incantato,” he said. The wand shocked him so hard he dropped it. He picked it back up and repeated the incantation, over and over, gritting his teeth to ignore the shock the angry wand gave him each time, revealing the spells that had been cast with it. There were the usual spells, Accio, Lumos, Scourgify, Aguamenti, Reparo, amongst the many spells. There were powerful spells, like the Patronus, but what caught his attention were the Avada Kedavra’s that had been cast very recently, possible even earlier that day. There were traces of Crucio, Imperius, Fiendfyre, Inferius, and several other spells that felt Dark, but he’d never heard of. Like… Sectumsempra? And another spell, definitely cast sometime that day, so dark and twisted and confusing that he had no idea what it was.

 

Tom Riddle didn’t curse often. He preferred the use of more eloquent terms to express himself. But really all he could think was, who the fuck was this girl?

 

 

Callidora Selwyn was welcomed into the hospital wing by Madam Berwetia, a very kind, elderly Healer. She ushered the young girl straight in, immediately fusing over the state of her clothes and the scratches that covered her pale skin.

 

Madam Berwetia demanded to know what happened. She told her, about the muggle bomb, searching the rubble for her parents, apparating into the Forbidden Forest, running from an unknown creature, only stopping when she reached the gates of Hogwarts. The same story she would tell everyone, except for Albus Dumbledore of course.

 

“Oh my dear girl, I am so sorry!” the healer exclaimed at the end of her tale, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get those cuts cleaned up, repair your poor skirt, and get you a good night’s sleep. This is the most comfortable bed in the whole hospital wing. Hop up for me.” She patted the bed in the far corner of the room.

 

Herm… no… Callidora, climbed onto the bed, silent while the healer buzzed around her. She reached a hand up to hold her beloved wand, a comforting habit she’d developed over the past year. She had a moment of panic when it wasn’t there because, she remembered, the Head Boy had taken it before allowing her onto Hogwarts grounds. It was a smart move, a stranger with a wand could do an unknown amount of damage. But Tom Riddle had her wand and that was not a comforting thought. She would retrieve it from him first thing in the morning, after Headmaster Dippet agreed to let her complete her final year of magical education here at Hogwarts.

 

She felt much better after Madam Berwetia had finished. She was still in desperate need of a shower, but there would be time for that tomorrow. She swallowed the potion the witch put in her hand and immediately recognized the taste of a Dreamless Sleep potion. The elder witch held up the sheets for her to crawl in, and she was fast asleep before the Madam had finished tucking her in.

 

 

A bright, blinding light is what woke her in the morning. She shot straight up, reaching up her sleeve for her wand that wasn’t there. He heart skipped a beat, her eyes were wild, and then she recognized the large window set in the ancient gray stone walls. Hogwarts. She was safe inside Hogwarts. In 1944. She sighed in relief, then relaxed back onto the bed. It didn’t take long for Madam Berwetia to notice that her patient had awoken.

 

“Good Morning, Miss Selwyn!” Madam Berwetia greeted her. “What a beautiful day it is! The sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky! Headmaster Dippet would like to see you this morning. Someone should be here shortly to fetch you. I’ll help you get ready.”

 

She didn’t even have time to respond before the Healer had pulled her to her feet and was circling around her, waving her wand. She felt her hair being pulled and tugged, her clothes straightened, the layer of oil and dirt on her face washed away. After the witch stated that she was done, Callidora glanced in the mirror on the wall.

 

Her face was clean, with a skin brightening charm to cover the dull paleness one would have after spending a year on the run, hiding in forests and caves with little interaction with the sun and only occasional sleep. Her hair was also clean, pulled, pinned, and curled into a befitting 1940s style. Her clothes had been cleaned and repaired. Overall, she looked like a proper young witch in 1944.

 

When the door to the hospital wing creaked open, she looked over to see the tall form of none other than the young Lord Voldemort himself striding in.

 

“Good morning Madam Berwetia, Miss Selwyn,” he nodded to them with a smile, like a proper young gentleman. Madam Berwetia ate it up.

 

“Good morning Tom!” she said. “You’re here to escort Miss Selwyn to the Headmaster’s office?”

 

“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiled more brightly, if it was even possible. “With pleasure. Miss Selwyn?” He held out his arm for her to take. She slipped her arm through his, ignoring the spark she felt when her skin touched his and he guided her out the door. She glanced around the castle, after all, she’d never seen it before and things looked so differently in the daylight. She looked over at her escort as they walked under a window. His dark brown hair, perfectly groomed, was silky and shiny in the sunlight. She could see the different shades of green sparkling throughout his irises. The ones that were now intensely focused on hers.

 

“I was so exhausted last night, I only realized this morning that you still have my wand,” she told him.

 

“Yes, I do,” he informed her. “Such an interesting wand it is. Well worn and battle-marked, like it once belonged to someone else, much older than yourself. Wherever did you get such a wand?”

 

“That, Mr…” she trailed off, as though she couldn’t remember his name.

 

“Riddle. Tom Riddle.” He smiled at her, his perfect teeth gleamed white in the morning light. He was so graceful, polite, handsome, powerful and charming, with a subtle hint of darkness behind his gorgeous green eyes. In the daylight, she now understood how easily someone could be enthralled by the charms of the young Lord Voldemort. “You may call me Tom.”

 

“Well, Mr. Riddle, that’s a secret.”

 

He cocked his head at her. “I’m an excellent secret keeper.”

 

It was her turn to smile at him. “I’m sure you are. I do hope you didn’t try to use my wand. I’m afraid it’s deadly loyal to me. I would appreciate it if you would return it to me now.”

 

“I’ll return it as soon as the Headmaster has accepted you as a student. I don’t feel it’s safe to let a stranger so familiar with dark magic wander the halls of the school with a wand.”

 

“How would you know whether or not I’m familiar with dark magic?”

 

“I’m an excellent judge of character, Callidora. May I call you Callidora.” It was phrased as a question, but said as a statement. “Here we are.” He pulled her into the eagle statue that she had to pretend like she didn’t know. “Just follow me please. Founders!” he firmly stated the password and pulled her onto the second stair as the winding staircase rose from the floor.

 

“How creative!” she said excitedly. “I’ve never see a hidden winding staircase before.”

 

“You’ll find that all of Hogwart’s staircases move. It’s best to give yourself at least 5 extra minutes to get to classes in case you have to take a long way around, or a staircase moves while you’re on it.” The staircase halted, he placed his hand on her lower back to steady her when she jolted. He guided her into the Headmaster’s office ahead of himself.

 

“There are you are, Tom. Thank you.” The headmaster said from behind his desk. He was an older wizard, with long gray hair and a long gray beard not unlike Albus Dumbledore had in her time when he was the headmaster. Dippet’s robes were a dark, navy blue velvet with a matching wizard’s hat atop his head. “Miss Selwyn, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please, have a seat.” He gestured towards one of the chair in front of his desk. Tom Riddle sat down in the other chair. How presumptuous of him to assume that he would be staying for the meeting. But she was surprised when Dippet just nodded towards him, indicating that he was welcome to stay.

 

“Thank you for seeing me this morning, Headmaster,” she said.

 

“I wanted to personally welcome you to Hogwarts, Miss Selwyn. I’ve already spoken to Professor Dumbledore. He’s already apprised me of your situation so there’s no need for you to repeat the story to me. You have my condolences. I have accepted you as a 7th year student, we only have to sort you and do a quick test of your abilities to determine your class placements.”

 

“Thank, sir, so much! I’m not sure what I would have done if I couldn’t complete my education.”

 

“Don’t be silly, a Selwyn would never be rejected from Hogwarts. I’m only sorry that you had to join us so late, and under such sad circumstances. Tom, could you please get the Sorting Hat?”

 

Riddle stood up and snatched the Sorting Hat off of it’s stool, then dropped it over her head. It fit much better this time around, on her fully grown 17 year old head.

 

_What a conundrum we have here. I see that I’ve sorted you before, but I have no memory of that. A time traveling Gryffindor? But a Gryffindor you are, no more. Once called Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn, now you call yourself Callidora Selwyn, a pureblood. I see the plotting, the planning, the magic you used to get here. You’ll do anything you have to, to achieve your goals. “No cost too high,” you said so yourself. There’s only one place for you now._

 

“Slytherin!” the hat shouted so loudly it echoed through the office.

 

“Wonderful!” the Headmaster nearly shouted after it. Riddle plucked the hat off her head and placed it back onto it’s stool. “That’s Tom’s house. I’m sure he won’t mind showing you around and introducing you to the other students. Tom?”

 

“Not at all, Headmaster,” he answered.

 

“Very good. Miss Selwyn will need to get her school supplies and I’m afraid the staff is so busy preparing for the start of classes on Monday. Please escort Miss Selwyn to breakfast, and after return to my office. I’ll arrange a portkey for both of you to go to Diagon Alley today. I hope you didn’t have plans, Tom.”

 

“Nothing that I can’t rearrange Headmaster.”

 

“Excellent. Now, if you can return her wand, we’ll get through these tests quickly.”

 

Riddle pulled her wand from his robes and handed it to her. A wave of relief washed over her, feeling her familiar friend humming in her hand once again.

 

The tests didn’t take long. She passed the tests for Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Ancient Runes with flying colors. Dippet said she would be placed in advanced classes, like she didn’t already know that. She informed him that she had no interest in Divination or any other class other than Defence Against the Dark Arts. Dippet asked her to produce a Patronus. So she did.

 

As time went on, it was harder and harder to recall such a joyous memory, but she could still manage. She thought back to the final feast of her first year, her arms around Harry and Ron as they all grinned and laughed when they won the house cup for Gryffindor. She would never forget the shock on Neville’s face that day, watching the green change to red. She cast the spell, but her playful, carefree Otter had disappeared months ago. It was the silver, ethereal form of a Runespoor that spilled from the tip of her wand now. The fully formed three headed snake slithered and bolted across the room before she dismissed it with a second wave of her wand.

 

“That was spectacular Miss Selwyn. It’s obvious that you will take Advanced DADA as well. I’m very sorry that I will only have the privilege of you as a student for a single year. I won’t keep you two from you breakfast. I’ll see you back here in an hour.”

 

Tom Riddle offered her his arm again. She would be walking into the den of snakes, on the arm of the king himself. At least it wouldn’t be a dull morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. If you are, leave a Kudos and a comment, I love to hear what my readers are thinking!

Interacting with Tom Riddle was a bit like playing chess with a madman. He made a move, and then watched her make hers. With every action he was sizing her up, reading her, putting together a piece of the puzzle that was the mysterious and curious Callidora Selwyn. Each move he made was another test, one that could have catastrophic consequences if she fail.. This wouldn't be a long, slow, drawn out game. Riddle was pushing forward, hard and fast. Her only chance was to push back, just as hard so she could slow him down or jump ahead. She'd taken a risk last night, pushing him out of her mind but it had been a calculated risk. Things could have gone much worse if he saw something he shouldn’t have. 

If she kept pushing back, how long until the madman swept all of the pieces to the floor and leapt across the board to kill her? She was patient, she could play the long game if she could get him to buy in and slow down. This wasn't a quick in and out mission like the many she’d had to get here. This was the long con, the one with no return.

He'd read her wand, it was the only way he knew the things he'd hinted at, and the only reason he would be so intrigued with her after she'd so obviously angered him only hours before. And he was incredibly observant, more so than she’d expected. No one else, save for Dumbledore, would notice the age and battle marks on her wand, a powerful wand in the hands of a master that had earned it’s loyalty as she had. But after his observations and discovery of spells recently cast with her wand, the head boy hadn't reported her. She'd have been snatched up by Aurors and locked away Azkaban if he had. He was a step ahead of her right now and she didn’t like it, not one single bit. She still had the advantage, she knew his secrets, his plans, but she needed to get out in front of this before things started to fall apart. What was he planning to do with her?

The answer was simple for anyone that really knew him, someone like her, who had studied his childhood at the orphanage, his younger years at Hogwarts, his present, and his future. He wanted to collect her. Because that's what Tom Riddle did, he collected things that were desirable, powerful, things that others would want. The compulsion began in his younger years before Dumbledore found him and brought him to Hogwarts. It started with all of the worthless items he could find around the orphanage, desperate to call something, anything, his own. The compulsion grew with age and now he regarded people as little more than an object to be discarded or collected and used, just like his diary and his ring. The ring he didn't know held the resurrection stone. How had someone so observant never noticed he carried one of the Deathly Hallows on his finger?

The entrance to the great hall looked exactly the same as it did in her time. A small part of her was expecting to see Harry and Ron waiting at the Gryffindor table as she had so very many times before. The boys, especially Ron and his bottomless pit of a stomach, often beat her to the table, always so if she’d spent the morning in the library. 

But Harry and Ron weren’t there. They wouldn’t sit at the Gryffindor table for the first time for another 57 years. The familiar table was filled so many unfamiliar faces. She followed Riddle to the Slytherin table. It was strange, approaching the sea of green and silver and not being welcomed with sneers and leers and “mudblood” being mumbled under breaths.

“Tom, who is this gorgeous creature you've graced us with?” a devastating beautiful blonde asked. She didn't even have to see his sharp gray eyes to know who he was. No man was that blonde and that pretty other than a Malfoy. This one was Abraxas Malfoy, father of Lucius and grandfather of Draco. He was elegant with the same aura of pureblood confidence that Lucius had reeked of until his stint in Azkaban had taken it from him. The resemblance Lucius would bear to his father was uncanny. He was a prefect, Quidditch captain. Dragon Pox would take his life in 1971, before the start of the first war but he would remain loyal to his childhood friend, if you could say Riddle had a real friend, until his death. His son would take his place by the Dark Lord’s side.

Abraxas stood up from the Slytherin dining table, as did several other boys, all 7th years by the looks of them. It seemed chivalry was alive and well in 1944. Unless they were standing for Riddle. She’d have to see what they did when Riddle approached without her. These boys were the Knights of Walpurgis, the future first Death Eaters.

“Gentleman,” Riddle said. “This is Miss Callidora Selwyn. She will be joining us for her 7th year.”

Many heads snapped to attention at the mention of her surname. Malfoy, who was directly to her right, took her hand in his and pressed his rather soft lips to the back of it.

“Abraxas Malfoy,” he introduced himself. “An absolute pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Slyterin.”

“Selwyn, eh?” a black haired boy said from across the table with a smile. He had deep blue eyes and bore a striking resemblance to Sirius Black. Cygnus Black, his uncle, the father of Narcissa, Andromeda, and Bellatrix. Just thinking of the vile wild haired witch made her arm itch. She resisted the urge to rub at her forearm. The physical scar was gone, it took a great deal of powerful healing charms and potions. The memory of it would never leave her. 

His loyalties were unknown. From what she had read, she could find nothing stating he fought on either side of the war. If he became a Death Eater, he was never caught. It was more likely that he went off to a house in the country and waited to see who the victor would be, something many witches and wizards had done. 

“What are you doing at Hogwarts?” he asked. “I thought your parents kept you locked up at home?” His tone was playful and curious.

“My parents are no longer with us,” she answered. “I decided Hogwarts would be a wonderful place to finish my education.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Cygnus said.

“As am I,” Abraxas chimed in. 

There was a murmur of “sorry for your loss” from all of the boys standing. No one dared ask what happened to them.

“Sorry for making such a careless comment,” Cygnus said. “I hope you'll forgive me. I'm Cygnus Black, the third.”

“There's nothing to forgive,” she flashed him her most charming smile. “You couldn't have known. I don't think it's even made it in the papers yet.”

“Callidora,” Riddle said. “Allow me to introduce to you the rest of the Slytherin 7th years. This is Markus Avery,” he pointed to a thin, rather unremarkable looking brown haired boy. He wasn’t ugly, but he didn’t stand out in the crowd of well-bred purebloods. 

“Antonin Dolohov,” dark brown hair, black eyes, small, lean build, and she knew he was every bit the psychopath his Dark Lord was, even at such a young age, only he didn’t hide it so well. He was fiercely loyal to Voldemort, even after his fall at the end of the First Wizarding World. In her time, Dolohov spent 14 years in Azkaban and proudly rejoined his master’s side after the mass breakout in 1996. He loved to torture, he lived to kill. He was a powerful duelist, he’d defeated Moody at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. He eyed her, head to toe but not in the appraising way teenage boy eyed a pretty girl. He was one she’d have to keep close tabs on.

“Palladin Nott,” black hair, muscular build with a look that said he was always ready for a fight. He was killed by Aurors in the first war so there wasn’t much information she’d been able to find on him. She knew he was a chaser on the Slytherin team and would become the grandfather of Theodore Nott, but that was all she knew about it.

“Gangus Crabbe,” dirty blonde hair, and as obese as his grandson was in her time. He was a loyal Death Eater who escaped prison time because he was too slow and stupid to do much damage. According to ministry records, he’d had no confirmed murders and he ratted out several other Death Eaters to save his own skin. He was a beater on the Slytherin team.

“Ralphous Lestrange,” medium build, dark blonde hair, sharp face. He was the father of Radolphous Lestrange who would marry Bellatrix Black. He disappeared sometime during the first war, presumed dead in a battle with his body never found like so many other wizards. He was an extreme loyalist to the Dark Lord, that probably why Bellatrix married his son. Who else would allow and accept her obsessive love of Lord Voldemort?

“Soule Mulciber,” flat black hair that was so greasy it appeared to be glued to his head, square face and teeth that would make a dentist cringe. He would die in Azkaban after the first war, but his son would follow Voldemort in the second war.

“Tarken Rosier,” lean build, long black hair tied back at the nap of his neck. Older brother of Druella Rosier who would marry Cygnus Black. He would take the Dark Mark and smooth talk his way out of time in Azkaban after the first war. He died in 1983 from heart failure, a genetic defect.

“Pleasure to meet all of you gentleman,” she said with a nod.

“You’ll be sharing a dorm with the ladies over there,” Riddle pointed to the two girls at the end of the table. She knew from her study of him that he didn’t often let women into his inner circle. “Persia Greengrass and Altyia Carrow.” Persia had perfectly styled, sleek blonde hair sitting atop her pretty head with the air of arrogance typical of a wealthy pureblood. Even with her dull brown hair pinned and styled, Altyia still resembled a man more than a woman. “Have a seat.” He gestured towards the space currently occupied by Abraxas.

There had already been space for Riddle to sit, obviously that was his usual place in the middle of the long table, but when he gestured for her to sit next to him, Abraxas on the other side of her, the boys shuffled their feet to either side to make a second space. They only sat down after she and Riddle were seated. She was unsure whether they remained standing for her benefit, or their Dark Lord. One of the few things she couldn’t find during her research were the exact dates or years that each of Voldemort’s original Death Eaters took their Dark Marks. Did they have them already? It was unknown whether Riddle created the Mark and his first Death Eaters before he rose to true power, or after.

As her eyes wandered around the Great Hall, she was surprised to see the house tables so full. There were nearly double the number of students here than there had been at her first year at Hogwarts. She knew the First Wizarding War, started by the very same Dark Lord sitting her her left, had devastated the wizarding population, but it was a shock to truly see it for herself. Suddenly, the many empty corridors and classrooms around Hogwarts made sense. Most of them had to be in use in this time, to accommodate such a large student population.

Her eyes stopped on the other two 7th year Slytherin girls. Both were currently burning holes in her head with their eyes. And to think, she’d been looking forward to getting a great night’s sleep, safe and sound inside Hogwart’s walls once again. She hadn’t even filled her breakfast plate yet and Riddle had already ostracized her from her roommates. She’d have to put up an abundance of shields, jinxes, and charms around her bed before she’d feel safe. Girls were so catty. 

“So, Callidora,” Abraxas started. “Which classes will you be taking?”

“Advanced Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Ancient Runes, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Cygnus spit his eggs out onto his plate. “Dear Lord, nine classes, all advanced?”

“Yes Cygnus,” Riddle answered for her. “Some people have ambitions. Try to keep your food in your mouth.”

“I’d say so,” Malfoy said. “You’ll be in all of my classes, only I’m not taking Care of Magical Creatures or Ancient Runes. I had to leave time for Quidditch,” he smiled proudly. “I’m the Slytherin team captain and seeker.” An incredibly attractive, filthy rich pureblood who was quidditch team captain and seeker, that probably made a lot of young witches drop their panties for Abraxas Malfoy. “I think you might have the same schedule as Tom though.”

“Almost,” Riddle said in between bites of toast. He took a sip of pumpkin juice before continuing. “Only I’m taking Divination instead of Care of Magical Creatures. Callidora, do you plan to join the dueling club?” His smile said she might not have much of a choice. “I’m interested to see your skills and techniques, being taught at home is surely much different than we’ve been taught here at Hogwarts.” The corner of his mouth pulled up even further into a smirk. “I’m willing to wager that you know a few spells we are not allowed to use here.”

“I’m sure my curriculum at home isn’t that much different than Hogwarts. If you’re finished Riddle, we should get back to the Headmaster’s office.” She dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth before setting it on her empty plate which quickly vanished.

“Yes, of course,” he said, mimicking her actions. He stood and offered her his hand to help her from her seat. “Please, call me Tom. I insist.”

“Thank you. Tom.” Tom. Tom Riddle. Tom, Tom, Tom. It didn’t matter how many times she said it in her head. Calling Lord Voldemort by his given first name was strange. It was like trying to say a foreign word with an annunciation unknown to your native language. It made her tongue heavy and twisted.

“Where are you two off to?” Cygnus asked.

“He’s escorting me to Diagon Alley,” she said, Riddle had to close his mouth when she beat him to the answer. He wasn’t used to someone else speaking up when he was around. “I don’t have any school supplies. Or anything else really. Everything in my house was destroyed. The Headmaster has granted me a trip to get things in order.”

Cygnus nodded solemnly, not daring to inquire more. His lip twitched, like he was dying to ask what tragedy had befallen her family. It didn’t matter, her family’s tragedy would be front page news soon. She’d read the article. Only this time it would be a little different. Callidora Selwyn survived, the last of the Selwyn line. As far as everyone knew, she would be keeping the lineage of a sacred 28 family alive.

“Don’t be too long,” Abraxas said. “The 6th and 7th years are having a get together in the common room this evening.” He smirked, the typical Malfoy trademark only this time it wasn’t in a condescending manner, it was, dare she say, playful. “I’m sure everyone would like to get to know you.”

She took Riddle’s offered arm and they made their way back to the Headmaster’s office. Their walk was silent, except for Riddle occasionally scolding younger students for running in the halls. She could feel him looking down on her from the corner of his eye. He spoke the password to the Headmaster’s office, greeted Dippet, and after a warning from the Headmaster to behave and not take too long, they were representing the school after all, they both gripped the old coin that was their portkey. A second of dizzying twists and turns later, they landed in front of Gringotts. She and Riddle both straightened their robes.

“I assume you have your vault key?” Riddle asked.

“Of course,” she replied smoothly. “And my papers. I’ve never actually been to the family vault. Only my father went. I’ll have to reset the password with the goblins.”

He nodded and they headed into the bank. The line was short, less than a five minute wait before they stood in front of a goblin who asked for her key and password.

“Here is my key,” she placed the golden key into the goblins long fingered hand. “But I don’t know the password.” She handed him her identification papers next. “My parents were killed a few days ago. I’m their only heir, so everything has been left to me. But I’ve never been here before and my father never told me the password.”

The goblin pulled out a magnifying glass to inspect her papers. It grazed over every single line. She took deep, steady breaths. Goblins were highly intelligent and highly observant. Her papers, while untrue, were created by a real ministry official. She told herself over and over that they would pass a goblin inspection. Just keep breathing and don’t give the goblin any reason to be suspicious. Her steady breathing kept her heart rate down, but there was nothing she could do to stop the perspiration gather in her palms.

The goblin disappeared behind the counter, presumably to verify with the Ministry that her parents were indeed dead.

“Very well,” the goblin croaked out when he returned. “Your papers are in order.” He leaned towards her, and indicated to her with one long finger that she should do the same. “State your new password.”

She hadn’t thought of what she wanted it to be. So she said the first reasonable thing that came to mind. “Memories,” she whispered to the goblin. He nodded and hopped off of his seat.

They followed him to the carts. The Selwyn family vault was old, kept in the deepest part under the bank, where all of the old, pureblood family vaults where. 178 was the number. The goblin placed her key and his own into the door and one turn later, the ancient gears were clicking and grinding as the locks unlatched and the door slid open.

“Please wait here,” she said to Riddle. “I’ll be quick.” Her curiosity wanted to get the better of her, she desperately wanted to explore the huge, very full space, but she didn’t want to do so with Riddle lurking outside the door, peeking in to see anything that was in plain view. The front of the vault was filled with the typical priceless family heirlooms all the pureblood family’s had. There were vases, gilded furniture, old paintings and sculptures. She even spotted a complete set of fine dining china. Further back there were tables stacked with loose gems and another table covered in finished fine jewelry. Her hand skimmed over the section of silver necklaces. She stopped at the emerald encrusted choker. There would formal events she would attend in her 7th year, and every pureblood girl needed proper jewelry, in Slytherin colors. Right? Right, she’d earned this, after everything she’d been through, everything she’d done, and everything she still had to do. She pocketed the necklace and matching set of earrings. The large jewels were heavy in her robe pocket.

At the back of the vault was an extremely large pile of gold. Large enough that she could have bought a mansion, fill it with expensive useless crap, and barely make a dent in the pile of gold. She was reminded of the muggle cartoon she’d seen as a child, Scrooge McDuck, and had the urge to dive into the gold to see if one could actually swim in it. If only Riddle wasn’t there....

She pulled out her beaded bag and stuffed a significant amount of coins into it. She needed enough to get through the school year without a problem and she had a lot of things to buy today. She grabbed one more handful as an afterthought then closed her bag. The goblin closed the door before they climbed back into the cart. The journey back up to the surface always seemed longer than the trip down. Must be something to do with gravity.

“Where to first?” Riddle asked her as they left the bank, her key tucked safely back in her pocket.

“Probably best to start with robes,” she replied. “In case the Madam needs to make adjustments, we can pick them up before we leave. Lead the way?” 

Diagon Alley was almost exactly the same in this time as it was in hers. Shops were often kept in the family, passed down from generation to generation. The sign on Madam Malkin’s shop was shiny and new. A very young, nearly unrecognizable Madam Malkin greeted them immediately. Now that Hogwarts was back in session, Diagon Alley wasn’t very busy.

“I’m Callidora Selwyn, I need 7 sets of Hogwarts uniforms, Slytherin, winter wear including a cloak and scarf, sleep wear, and well, everything really,” she told the Madam. Malkin immediately went to work taking her measurements.

“You should probably get a set of dress robes as well,” Riddle suggested. “There’s a welcome ball in two weeks.” She nodded to Madam Malkin indicating her agreement. After finishing with her measurements, Madam Malkin sent them on their way, promising to owl all of her robes first thing tomorrow and directly bill her vault for the order. She would be custom designing ‘the most fabulous gown’ for her dress robes.

An hour later, they had all of her supplies except books. Her beaded bag was full of quills, ink, parchment, cauldrons, potions ingredients, and more. She’d also stopped in to the Ice Cream Parlour for a bag of sweets. Flourish and Blott’s was their final stop.

“Would you mind if I take some time to look around?” she asked Riddle.

“Not at all. I’d like to look around myself. It’s always so crowded the week before school that I never get a chance to enjoy it.”

She browsed through each row of bookshelves, leather bound parchment and ink was still her favorite smell. She favored the new, clean smell of the bookstore, but she found the smell of aged leather in a library more comforting. Tomorrow she would be stopping into the Hogwarts library to see if the smell in this time brought the same comfort it had in her time. 

Her beaded bag was packed full of books so she was only looking for titles she didn’t recognize, ones that were unavailable in the 1990’s after the defeat of Grindelwald and the first fall of Voldemort. She ended up with a small stack of 14 books for personal reading pleasure. The shop assistant already had her standard Hogwarts textbooks waiting at the counter. She’d told him her classes when they’d entered the shop.

Riddle raised an eyebrow at her when she set her stack of books on the counter, so tall she could barely see over them to walk.

“Planning to do some light reading on the weekends?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said defensively. “I enjoy reading when I have free time. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I never said there was,” he said softly. “I’m an avid reader myself.” He nodded towards his own stack of books on the counter. There were 11 in his own stack.

She counted out the coins to pay for her purchase. She offered to store his books in her bag so he didn’t have to walk all the way back to the port key point balancing them.

“Would you care for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron before we go back?” he asked as they left the bookstore.

“If it’s any good, that would be nice, thank you.”

He escorted her down the nearly empty street, through the brick wall, and into the dimly lit pub. It was empty, save for 2 patrons sitting together at the far corner. Riddle took her to corner booth, the farthest from the bar and the other patrons. The hunched back barkeep was easily recognizable behind the counter, although he was much younger and had an unruly mop of hair on his head. He rushed over to take their order. She ordered a simple turkey sandwich with a butterbeer. Riddle ordered a cottage pie and a butterbeer.

“Tell me more about yourself,” Riddle said casually. “I must admit, I find myself a bit intrigued by you.”

“Intrigued?” she questioned before taking a bite of her sandwich. “How so?”

“You’re a new student who placed straight into advanced classes from a reclusive pureblood family, and you have no issues using Dark Magic, including the Unforgivables.” He smiled at her, like a cat who’d thought he’d cornered a mouse.

“And how would you know that?” she asked pointedly.

“I traced your wand. I thought, considering the circumstances of your arrival, I should check to see if you cast any… unsavory spells.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, barely above a whisper. “Imagine my surprise when I found two recently cast Avada Kedavra. Tell me, did you kill your parents and cover it up with a muggle bomb?”

She gasped, her eyes wide, slamming her back against her seat, recoiling from him at the implication. “Of course I didn’t! How dare you! I cast those at some giant spiders that were chasing me after I apparated into the forest.” She pursed her lips, leaning against the table, pushing into Riddle’s space. “Now, I think the more interesting question would be why you didn’t turn my wand over to the Headmaster after you did the trace?”

Riddle just smiled at her, again. He folded his napkin and placed it next to his now empty bowl before sliding ever so gracefully from the booth. “I’ll answer that, in due time. I believe it’s time for us to return to school.”

She remained seated, staring up at his tall form. “Are you turning me in?”

“For killing some spiders?” He cocked his head. “Of course not.”

He knew he had the upper hand and that was fine, but she needed to let him know the playing field was more level than he thought. “The head boy isn’t going to turn in the new student for casting unforgivables? Now I’m the curious one. What dark secrets are you hiding, Tom Riddle? Are you interested in learning more about the Dark Arts, or do you just like surrounding yourself with dark wizards and witches?”

“Perhaps I’m just interested in learning more about you. You are quite the mystery.” He offered her his arm that didn’t seem optional to accept.

The trek back to Gringotts was long and silent. She felt slightly underhanded by Riddle, not the place she wanted to be. She had hoped to have a little more time, a few weeks at least, observing him before she drew his attention. But this was the hand she had been dealt and she would play it to the fullest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been reading, leaving kudos, and bookmarking! Four chapters up and no comments yet makes me a little sad. If you're enjoying the story, please leave a comment and some kudos and bookmark!

Over the past year, she’d learned a great deal about human nature and human behavior. She now knew the easiest way to blend in was to _just_ fit in. If you were too aloof, you stood out as a potential danger and people paid attention to you, though they may not acknowledge you, they watched because that little voice in the back of their head waved a red flag and told them too. If you fit in _too_ well, then you stood out above the rest of the crowd and people showered you with attention. The former Hermione Granger knew the easiest way to infiltrate and observe was to stay in the middle of the crowd.

 

She also knew that people responded differently to certain things. When she needed something and had to use another person to gain it, she discovered there are many different ways to go about it and each person was more receptive to a particular style. Sometimes she could charm her way through, sometimes she resorted to fear (which often also lead to death because fearful people couldn’t always be trust to keep their mouths shut after she was gone). Other times she could play the sad, desperate child in need of help, and oh so rarely she had to use the very careful and touchy art of seduction, though she found it was her weakest asset and she never, ever took it all the way. A few men had died at the end of her wand when she coyly set a boundary they chose to ignore. She would do anything to get what she needed, anything but _that_. Her first time wouldn’t be with a stranger.

 

When Tom Riddle guided her down the passage and into her new common room, she was immediately grateful that the sorting hat had put her into Slytherin. If it had been thinking about returning her to Gryffindor, she would have argued against it. Gryffindor would have been too familiar, too comforting and she wasn’t sure that she could handle the barrage of happy memories that would bombard her when she stepped through the portrait of the Fat Lady. The happy memories and the nostalgia very likely would have been too much for her. She wasn’t ignorant of her own condition, she was well aware that she, like any soldier in her position, suffered from what muggles called PTSD and the vibrant reds of the Gryffindor common room transformed into deep crimson in the dim candlelight of the night, a shade that would reminder her too much of blood stained walls she’d seen at Hogwarts on the battlefield in her own time. She had to keep her wits about her and Gryffindor wasn’t a place she could do that.

 

The Slytherin common room was nothing like Gryffindor. She remembered what Harry and Ron had said about it during their second year when they went in with Draco Malfoy posing as Crabbe and Goyle with polyjuice potion, but their vague descriptions didn’t match the feel of the room. Even the password wasn’t the same. Harry and Ron had said it was ‘Pure-Blood’ in their second year. Here in 1944, Tom Riddle had said, “Greatness” to gain access.

 

The stone wall in the middle of a dungeon corridor moved to reveal a short passageway that led to the common room. As they entered, she could see the walls were a dark, muted green. It was a bit depressing compared to the vibrant reds and golds that adorned Gryffindor tower, but the colors wouldn’t trigger any temporary psychotic breaks. The same shade of green accented all across the room. The dark gray stone of the dungeon walls were smooth and polished. Some of it was carved into pillars that served no purpose other than to act as pompous decor. Centuries ago, Salazar Slytherin ordered someone to toil away, working hard to carve something that served no purpose. She thought it was typical of a wealthy Slytherin, something Salazar himself had certainly been.

 

The furniture was neat, orderly, black, leather, and overly ornate. Most of it looked like it was never used, though based on the amount of students filling the common room it must have been. There were no well-worn chairs or lumpy couches to be seen here. She guessed that parents ‘donated’ new furniture on a regular basis to keep it all new and up to date. It even smelled clean, nothing like the thick, musty odor the rest of the dungeons had. The look and smell of the common room alone was enough to make her feel uneasy.

 

Everything about the atmosphere was different. Even with all of the 6th and 7th years in the room for a planned party, it was far quieter here than it ever was in Gryffindor during study sessions. Everyone was still dressed in their robes, prim and proper like a Pure-blood should always be. The 7th years were lounging on the couch and she could see a bottle of something, firewhiskey she suspected, was being passed around.

 

She was nervous, though it would never show. It had been so long since she’d spent time with a group of people, especially people she needed to like her. Fit in, blend in, and observe, that’s what she needed to do right now. She’d done her research on important, or potentially important students, ones that were close to Voldemort in this time. But, reading about them in a book and interacting with them in a casual social environment were very different.

 

A blonde head popped out of the crowd, the first to spot them.

 

“Tom, Callidora!” Abraxas Malfoy called to them. “Come and join us!” He gestured to the empty seat on the couch next to himself. There was only one, but when she and Riddle approached, Greengrass slid over to the edge of the couch to make room and she smiled at Riddle when he sat next to her. She was amazed at how quiet and proper they all were, even with their eyes glazed over from what she had correctly guessed was firewhiskey. She took a seat between Abraxas and Riddle.

 

“Get everything you needed?” Cygnus asked.

 

“Yes, the shopkeepers at Diagon Alley were most helpful,” she answered him. “After a few things are being delivered tomorrow, then I’ll have everything I need.”

 

“With a last name like Selwyn, I’m sure they were eager to help,” Abraxas said. “If there’s anything I can help with, anything at all, please let me know.”

 

“Thank you Abraxas, that’s very kind of you.”

 

He leaned a little closer to her, until their shoulders were just touching. “It’s my pleasure, Callidora.”

 

She smiled at him, though what she really wanted to do was laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of her situation. She was sitting in the Slytherin common room with the King of the Snakes on one side and Draco Malfoy’s grandfather on her other. Draco Malfoy’s very handsome grandfather who was make no attempt to be subtle with his flirtation. “Please, call me Callie. Callidora is so… formal.” She could practically feel Riddle twitching next to her with displeasure. Cygnus and Dolohov had already engaged him in conversation, currently about his new privileges as Head Boy. Not only was he responding to them with easy, he was listening in on her conversation with Abraxas. She was puzzled at how he could sit down with his housemates and look so seemingly relaxed and commanding at the same time. Apparently Tom Riddle’s presence was powerful no matter what he was doing.

 

“You missed lunch and dinner on your excursion. Why don’t we sneak down to the kitchens and grab something for you to eat?” Abraxas offered, his liquid silver eyes were shining at her.

 

“That would be lovely,” she said, placing her hand on his arm as they stood.

 

“Actually, I find I’m rather famished,” Riddle interjected as he stood next to her, his tone so sharp that the rest of the 7th years fell silent. “I’ll escort Callie to the kitchens so we can both get something. Abraxas, I trust you’ll keep an eye out on everyone here until we return?”

 

Abraxas immediately returned to his seat.

 

“If you’re hungry too, why don’t you join us?” She offered.

 

“Oh no, I only wanted to make sure you didn’t think you had to go hungry this evening just because you missed dinner.”

 

Riddle took her arm in his, without asking or offering, and led her back through the passageway and to the halls. When he steered her towards the direction of the long route to the kitchens, it irritated her to no end that she couldn’t correct him. Once day this week, Callidora Selwyn would spend some time ‘exploring’ the castle so that she would no longer need him as an escort everywhere she went.

 

“You’re upset with me,” he said, his voice quiet in the dark empty halls.

 

“Of course I am,” she stated, pulling her arm from his. “You accused me of killing my parents. My parents that I love very much and just watched get blown to pieces.”

 

He grasped her arm, firmly enough to say she didn’t have an option but to stop and face him.

 

“My apologies,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t think before I spoke.” His grip softened and his hand stroked the side of her arm, a gesture that would have been comforting had it come from anyone that wasn’t the future Lord Voldemort. Because that’s what he was, she reminded herself when his touch sent a tremor down her spine. “I just find you so fascinating. I hope that you can forgive me. I was hoping, given some time, that we could be friends.”

 

“Friends? Perhaps that’s possible. Though I should inform you that friends don’t generally accuse one another of murder.” Her carefully timed smile indicated her teasing.

 

They said the eyes are the windows to the soul. Her eyes were where the young dark Lord was currently looking to gauge her honesty and intentions. A year ago she would have been nervous, worried that something would give her away, a nervous tick or a slight fear in her eyes. But now those eyes had seen horrors most couldn't imagine. Death, dismemberment, decapitation. She'd been to battle, picked bits of flesh from her hair that very well could have belonged to a friend. When you've looked at a piece of flesh and based on the skin tone, narrowed down the owner to a handful of people and not completely lost your mind in that moment, there wasn't much left in the world that could phase you.   
  
And so when he locked his green eyes with her own, trying to judge what she was really thinking since he couldn't go searching about her mind as he did with most people, she smiled at him. It was the same kind of smile he gave, the one that never quite reached his eyes. The emptiness behind his green orbs was the result of a psychopath raised in a dog eat dog environment from birth. The emptiness behind her chocolate irises was the result of a battle weary soul who had nothing left to live for except revenge. Different cause, but same result. And that result, a trait Tom Riddle recognized as one of his own is what drew him to her like a moth to a flame. He was very, very slowly leaning in towards her, an action that was so slow and so subtle that she knew was unconscious.

 

“If you’re finished judging me,” she said. “And I do mean that in a friendly way, I’d like to continue to the kitchens.”

 

“As you wish,” he said before he broke the rather intense staring contest he’d engaged them in. He slid his hand down her arm until he reached her elbow and smoothly maneuvered her arm through his again.

 

By the time they’d returned from the kitchens, several hours had passed and the common room was now empty. She was surprised at how quickly time passed as she sat in the kitchens with Tom Marvolo Riddle and discussed everything from the Hogwarts castle and the different houses (a conversation that was him sharing information she already knew and pretended she didn’t), to classes and wand techniques. The latter of the conversation was much easier, it turned out that the current curriculum and techniques taught at Hogwarts in 1944 were very different that what she’d learned in her own time. She made mental notes of things that were unknown or had yet to be invented and modified details as such.

 

She wasn’t surprised to find the little she knew about the young Tom Riddle from Harry, Dumbledore (of her time), Ginny because she often shared her diary experiences with her, and some research, it was all right. He was extremely intelligent, able to not only keep up with her in an academic conversation, but actually challenged her. She had a new casting technique to try next time she needed to cast an Incarcerous.

 

He was also as charming as she’d heard. He was well spoken and witty with a hint of underlying sarcasm that showed itself more the longer they spoke. His movements and mannerisms mirrored her own and she wasn’t sure if they were sincerely his natural behavior or one of his well learned tricks, a trick she’d often used herself, to make people feel more at ease with him. And it _almost_ worked. Her relaxed posture, quiet laughs, and coy smiles were barely forced. She found that she had to remind herself who he was several times. He wasn’t just a smart, charming, handsome young man, he was already a murderer with a fraction of a soul who was collecting students to build a following that would eventually sweep darkness across the world after he continued to split his soul and lose his mind.

 

When they entered the now empty common room, another realization struck her. He was already collecting her. He had purposely isolated her the moment she was seemingly becoming comfortable with another student. He kept her in the kitchens until he knew everyone would have gone to bed. She’d always been more of a guy’s girl than a girly girl and he’d marked her as his territory. And if she was correct about typical teenage girl behavior, and she usually was, then having the handsome Head Boy, who from what she knew had no romantic interest, personally escort her to the kitchens where they stayed for hours would ensure the few female 7th year Slytherins, possibly others, would harbor some misplaced jealousy for her. She wouldn’t be making any good friends anytime soon now.

 

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Tom,” she said sincerely. It was the nicest evening she’d had in a long time. “If you could point me in the direction of the 7th year girls dorm?”

 

He pointed with his free hand to the short hall to the right. “First door on the left hand side. The dorms for the younger students are further back.” His hand grazed her arm until it found her hand and grasped it softly. “I believe I should be the one thanking you for such a stimulating conversation this evening. It was a pleasure to spend it with you, Callie.” He pressed his lips to the back of her hand before releasing it. “I’ll escort you to breakfast in the morning.” A command, not a question. She watched as the stone wall closed behind him, the Head dorms were in a neutral part of the castle to discourage house favoritism.

 

When she opened the door to the girl’s dorm, she was greeted with silence. Two beds had their curtains closed. There was a trunk with her things at the end of an open bed, but she didn’t like the position. It was instinct now to always sleep facing the entrance, and she preferred to be as far from the door as possible especially in a dungeon where it was the only exit. She wordlessly levitated her things to the end of the bed she felt the most comfortable with. It was also the furthest from the two sleeping girls. She was quick and quiet about readying herself for bed in the attached bathroom.

 

Hermione Granger, before she’d become Callidora Selwyn, had become a war hardened soldier. When times were hard, she rose above them. When circumstances changed without a seconds notice, she adapted. She would do whatever it took to change the future, to give those she loved with all that she has been a chance at a real future. It was rare for her to have a moment of weakness, but when revenge, especially the blood thirsty revenge she sought, was all that kept you going, a moment of weakness was a dangerous thing. It wasn't a single tear she couldn't stop from slipping down her cheek or a nervous twitch that told someone she was uncomfortable. Those things didn't happen anymore unless she wanted them too. No, her moments of weakness now were of earth shattering portions. They happened when she couldn't stop the worst of her memories from pulling to the front of her mind.

 

When she was laying in the silent darkness of a four poster bed that was a little too familiar, the images and memories came. They flashed through her mind so quickly she couldn’t tell the good from the bed. They blurred together in a violent torrent that she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t even slow it down. Tears streamed down her face as she saw a flash of Ron’s smile then his empty eyes staring up at her from the ground. When felt the excruciating pain of Bellatrix Lestrange carving into her arm, the cursed blade was far more painful than even a Crucio from the same mad woman, a scream tore through her throat that was so raw, so unhinged that it would leave her throat sore in the morning. She tried desperately to wipe the blood from her hands that wasn’t there when she saw the dead man, the one whose neck she’d sliced open with a knife.

 

The memories didn’t stop. They just kept coming and coming until she was clawing at her own head in a useless attempt to physically rip the memories from her mind. She screamed and she cried as she rocked herself back and forth until at some point late into the night, she was so exhausted that sleep took her.  
  
In the morning, when she'd returned to her proper state of mind, she'd be so glad she'd had the sense to cast a semi-permanent silencing charm on her bed before she had crawled into it.


End file.
